


Operation: Evil Eye

by ghartokpadhome



Category: Halo (Video Games) & Related Fandoms
Genre: Gen, ODST Orbital Drop Shock Trooper(s), Oni, SPARTAN-III, UNSC
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:08:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25431367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghartokpadhome/pseuds/ghartokpadhome
Summary: An ONI team is sent to neutralize the leader of a growing rebel faction. They were not prepared for the real threat
Kudos: 7





	1. Chapter 1

**0938 Hours, July 11, 2555 (Military Calendar)  
** **Bravo-6, Sydney, Australia, Earth**

The ODST was uneasy. He'd been in this particular room enough times to know what was coming. And the other two people in the Admiral's waiting room told him whatever he would be doing, it would not be alone. 

One of the others was a Lieutenant Commander and a fellow ODST, but based on his pilot's suit, he was only drop-rated and likely did not serve as a shock trooper. He sat perfectly straight, and impressively still. Either he had done this before and was confident he could handle the assignment, or he had never had an ONI assignment in his career and was too nervous to be impatient. 

The second person in the room was much younger, likely by a decade, and sat as much at attention as he could get. He looked so scared, Twitch thought the kid's eyes might well bulge out of his head. 

The kid was a Navy crewman and he wore the simple working uniform of a Machinery Repairman. He had to be damn good at his job to be summoned here. 

"Lieutenant Commander Keating, Staff Sergeant Carter, Crewman Walker, please follow me," a Lieutenant in a service uniform stood in the doorway. 

The young crewman, Walker, shot up like a rocket. Twitch and the other ODST rose quickly and walked briskly but calmly to the door. Because the young man was farthest from the door, he took up the rear. Twitch slowed his pace ever so slightly to allow the pilot to go ahead of him. 

They followed the Lieutenant down a short hallway to the Admiral's office, a place Twitch felt entirely too familiar with. 

So, when the Lieutenant opened the door Twitch was unsurprised to see four people already sitting around a conference table with the Admiral. He was, however mildly surprised that three of the four were Spartans. That meant this assignment would be interesting. Even more interesting was the ONI Captain sitting with them

"Alright let's begin with some introductions, shall we?" The Admiral, and the head of ONI, spoke. "Have a seat, you three"

Twitch complied, the nearest open seat was between the pilot and the Crewman, who were next to the Captain and a Spartan in green and grey armor. Like the other Spartans, his helmet, a Scout variant, sat in front of him on the table.

"First, this is Captain Sarasvati Larsen. She will be leading this operation." The Captain dipped her head in acknowledgement but continued to study the room openly. 

"This," she gestured to the ODST pilot, "is Lieutenant Commander John Keating. He is a pelican pilot, used to difficult insertions, and even harder exfiltrations. He also has experience with Prowler-class vessels." The pilot's eyebrow went up at that last part, clearly he hadn't been expecting that to be relevant. But that did explain why he was so impassive, other than being a pilot, he had direct experience with ONI. 

Twitch tried to work out what the Admiral would say about him, considering ONI knew quite a lot about him, both from working with him directly and by the nature of the organization. 

"And this is Staff Sergeant James Carter. An ODST of the highest caliber and one of ONI's favorite operatives for leading small fireteams." A mercifully short introduction that seemed suspiciously full of flattery. He had a sinking feeling that was because he, in particular would not like this mission. 

She moved on quickly, "Crewman Benjamin Walker has shown himself to be quite a capable mechanic in the months he has been a part of the Navy. He will do a fine job of keeping your ship running," she looked to the Captain at that last part, and the young Crewman swallowed nervously. 

"And finally, the Spartans," she gestured at the remaining three people in the room. According to the more superstitious, they barely counted as people, but Twitch had worked with enough Spartans to know that wasn't true. 

These Spartans were young, barely 20, if that. But they were tall, and wore the distinctive Mjolnir armor.

The Admiral pointed out the first, "Garan G291" He wore dark red armor and the helmet in front of him had a blocky shape to it. He straightened slightly in his seat.

"Tal G287" This one was wearing dark blue and grey armor with a Hazop helmet. She nodded almost imperceptibly. 

"And lastly, Saxen G056" This was the one next to Walker. He waved. 

"Now that all of that is out of the way, I'll go over your operation with you, the Captain will give more details once you're underway."

The Captain looked to Twitch uneasily, enforcing his idea that he really wasn't going to like this. 

"The team is going to take a Winter-class Prowler to the Colony of New Berlin, where the United Rebel Front is operating." She turned to Twitch, "Carter, we have reason to believe one of their leaders is someone you are familiar with." His heart sunk. "Though I suspect it isn't who you immediately thought of. This is someone you were in training with, a Sergeant Samuel Wilson."

"Sam?" He asked incredulously. "But he was such a great guy." 

The Admiral ignored his sarcasm, "He also had top marks in drop training, so I'd advise you all to be careful."

"How the hell did he get to be in charge of anyone," Twitch wondered out loud. "If Sam's the guy leading them, I say let him keep going, he'll run 'em into the ground." At that last statement he noticed the Captain look at the Admiral. "Look, if you thought I was gonna feel bad taking out a traitor just because he was in my class in drop school, you don't know me at all."

The Captain smiled broadly at him, "For once, I'm happy to be mistaken."


	2. Chapter 2

**1636 Hours, July 11, 2555 (Military Calendar)**   
**Bravo-6 Hangar, Sydney, Australia, Earth**

"There's no crew?" Keating, or Bugs as Twitch now knew to call him, asked doubtfully.

"Oh there's a crew," the Captain looked pointedly at him and Walker. The kid went absolutely pale. Then the Captain smiled, "And there's an AI"

"Seems like as good a time as any to introduce myself," a disembodied voice said out of an overhead speaker in the hangar of Bravo 6. The team, now designated Delta-Three, was loading their personal gear into a Pelican dropship that was going to take them up to the Prowler waiting for them in a low orbit.

"My name is Achilles.” A red hologram appeared in front of the Prowler, a Greek warrior with a spear and a golden helmet. He gave them a bow, “I will be assisting Delta-Three on this assignment.” Twitch noticed his accent and turn of speech were foreign and archaic. “This mission will be more difficult than it perhaps appears. The Captain and I will give a full briefing on the matter once we are underway. I look forward to working with you all.” His image disappeared, eerily and without a sound. The rest of Delta-Three made uneasy eye contact with each other, but no one spoke, knowing the AI would be able to hear them. _Hell_ , Twitch thought grimly, _he can probably hear our thoughts anyway. Those damn AIs can be anywhere._

Twitch carried his M7S SMG in his right hand and had a single duffel in his opposite hand containing all of his allotted personal gear, his M6C/SOCOM sound-suppressed sidearm on his hip and a M392 DMR attached to the mag clips on the back of his black battle armor. He largely preferred the DMR to the more commonly found BR55. He found the semi-automatic fire preferable for long-range encounters to the three-round burst of the BR55.

He ascended the ramp into the drop bay of the Pelican with the sum of his belongings. He was a career ODST which meant he had been keeping the entirety of his personal belongings in a single bunk on any given ship for upwards of a decade, and he would need to be able to pack it up quickly for his next assignment when the last was done. And if the ship containing his stuff got blown to bits before he could get them back? Well that was just too bad. Things were not important to him.

The others, Walker then the Spartans, followed him up the ramp. Bugs handed his duffel to Saxen, who was in the rear, and went around to the cockpit. Captain Larsen was already waiting for her team in the drop bay.

"Alright,” she began immediately. She was either experienced with leading teams like this one or completely inexperienced and covering it up with a no-nonsense attitude, Twitch couldn’t tell which. "We'll be going up in 5. We will be underway by 1700 hours and in slipspace by 1830 hours. Secure your things and strap in." She leaned into the cockpit and Bugs gave her a thumbs-up without looking up from his preflight checks. "Great," she turned back to the rest of them, "get to it."

Twitch strapped in with the rest of Delta-Three, after having strapped his duffel to the bulkhead next to his seat. He secured the DMR and SMG to the other side of his seat, within easy reach should anything go wrong. The Spartans did the same.

Only Walker struggled with his gear. He'd only been in a Pelican a handful of times and it showed. A career marine, like Twitch, would never struggle to secure his belongings because they did it so often. A young Navy crewman with little training and less experience, however, clearly was having trouble. Twitch unstrapped himself and went over to give the kid a hand. He showed him how to use the straps and didn't miss how embarassed the kid was. Twitch realized these Spartans were nearly the crewman's peers. And he wasn't thinking of them as kids. He figured as inexperienced as Walker was, he must have been competent at least to be put on an assignment with ONI, especially at such a young age. He decided that the crewman wasn’t a kid, he was the same age Twitch had been when he signed on, and enough of a mechanic to be assigned as the only crew on a Prowler. Twitch smiled at him, then returned to his own seat and strapped in.

“Alright,” the Captain called out, “if you’re not ready by now you’re getting dropped out the bay.” Twitch decided she had worked on a team like this many times before. She gave Bugs a go-ahead, and he powered up the Pelican, accelerating out of the hangar.


	3. Chapter 3

**0746 Hours, July 12, 2555 (Military Calendar)** **UNSC PRO-651, Unknown Location, Slipspace**

Twitch sipped the coffee appreciatively. It was dark and hot, and according to the discarded package of ground beans, it was sourced from Ethiopia. ONI obviously spared no expense, in this department at least. He knew ONI coffee was better even than Navy coffee, but he never had gotten used to it. 

He sat in the ship's galley. It was small, like everything else on the 84 meter prowler. It was, of course meant to carry a crew and complement of 25, so Delta-Three had no problem fitting in it, even if the Spartans always looked a bit cramped wherever they went. The Spartans dwarfed the unaugmented team members, even both ODSTs.    
As he stared into the steaming, brown liquid in his personal, regulation non-combustible magnesium alloy mug, someone else walked into the small galley. He didn’t look up.

“Hey,” the voice was young, and sounded a little bored, aloof. “Cap’n says we oughta get some hand-to-hand training in with you.”

He looked up to see Tal. The massive Spartan leaned against the doorway, blocking all of it with her body. She wore Marine Corps fatigues, in perfect order. Her skin was near the color of his coffee, dark and rich. 

“Unless you’re busy.” She was clearly making fun of him. 

He sighed and stood, downing the last half of his coffee in one gulp as he did so, but he didn’t respond.

“Sounds good,” She grinned at him and almost floated down the hall. 

***

He felt all the air leave him as his back made hard contact with the floor. Without thinking about it, he rolled to his right as his opponent came crashing down right where he’d been. He rolled up into a crouch, still unable to take a breath. He sprung left, over the downed Spartan, turning back to the others as he did so, landing light as a feather on the balls of his feet. A feint right, then a hard step to the left and forward, bringing his right knee up and into the second Spartan’s thigh. His second opponent hit the floor. He took a breath. As he turned to the right, to face the third opponent, he felt, rather than saw the Spartan barrelling toward him. He stepped into the charge, placing his hands on Saxen’s shoulders, swinging his legs to the right and up, he landed on his opponent’s back. The Spartan wheeled, trying to knock Twitch off, but he had just managed to get his legs under Saxen’s arms and around his barrel of a chest. He grabbed Saxen’s right arm and pulled back and down at the same time he dropped both feet to the floor and put all his weight behind throwing the massive soldier onto his back. 

He stopped and realized he was sucking wind, he decided then that he needed to hit the gym more often. The Spartans slowly got up, dusting themselves off. Garan looked pissed, Tal looked bored, and Saxen was grinning from ear to ear.

“I haven’t had a fight like that in years,” he exclaimed, elated. His endorphins must have been running wild. “Let’s do it again.”

“That was the third time I beat you,” Twitch said, struggling, and ultimately failing, to keep his voice even. “Let’s take a break”

“But only the first time you beat all three of us at once,” Saxen protested.

“Yeah,” agreed Tal, “if you let us have another go at you, you know we’ll win”   


Garan grinned, “Spartans always win eventually." 


	4. Chapter 4

**1953 Hours, September 9, 2549 (Military Calendar)** **UNSC Delta 739, In-atmosphere,** **Arcadia** **,** **Procyon system**

Bugs threw the power lever forward and pushed hard on the stick, dipping the Pelican dropship into a sharp dive, narrowly avoiding a plasma cannon blast. The ODST manning the aft M68 Gauss cannon, fired it at the Banshee flyers on their tail, letting out a battle cry that could be heard from the cockpit. The gunner, Thompson, to his left let loose the heavy rotary cannon on two Banshees directly in their path. The lead Banshee exploded and the shrapnel hit the second, and it dropped to the surface below like a rock. He hit the rudder while yanking the stick right, veering away from the flaming remnants of the Banshee. He pulled up, readjusting his course for the Cruiser waiting for them in low orbit. He could just see the outline of it, rapidly growing larger by the second. He fully opened the throttle and the Pelican lurched forward, gaining speed away from the battle below. 

He heard one of the ODSTs he’d picked up shout “Clear!” from the blood-tray, and then he saw an explosion from far below them. The ODSTs had been tasked with planting nuclear mines under a Covenant fortification, and Bugs had been sent to exfiltrate them. 

He looked back through the windshield to see the ventral side of the Cruiser, their salvation. The comm crackled to life and he heard the relieved voice of the ship’s Captain. “Delta 739, you are cleared for landing in hangar 2. Nice work.” 

Bugs turned to Thompson and grinned,  _ another job well-done _ , the gunner smiled back at him, but neither let go of the tension in their jaws. 

Bugs brought them in and the two most relieving sounds that he always hoped to hear after every mission hit him at the same time: the hangar doors closing behind his Pelican, and the shipboard comm crackling on, followed by the calm voice of the Captain of the  _ Marathon _ -class heavy cruiser, Jormungandr, saying “Welcome aboard, Delta 739. All hands, prepare for a slipspace jump.”

***

**0536 Hours, July 13, 2555 (Military Calendar)** **UNSC PRO-651, Unknown Location, Slipspace**

Bugs woke, still with the distinct feeling of the safety of an entire ship between him and the enemy. He sat up in his bunk, and swung his legs over the side, and made for the heads. He thought about the memory-dream, back when the sides were clear, fighting aliens and protecting humanity were the top priority. He figured the top brass still thought about it that way, protecting humanity. But from what? Themselves? The United Rebel Front were terrorists, simple as that, but they were human, not Covenant. Things were different now, and his unease at being on a Prowler again reflected that. The last time he’d been on one was before he’d flown in a Longsword squadron, before getting his drop-rating and flying his Pelican. Things weren’t so simple then either, only 14 years into the Human-Covenant War. The sides were clearer, but they had been on the run then, humanity. Their worlds being glassed left and right, only the Outer colonies then, but the threat had always been clear, the Covenant were after Earth. 

He shook his head to clear it, reflecting on this stuff was a surefire way to get sent to the psychs. There was no reason to stop doing his job now. Even though the war had started before his career, his job had always been to do his duty, it just happened to involve killing aliens back then. Nothing had really changed.  _ Just do your damnedest to stay alive and keep the men and women on your ship alive with you,  _ he thought,  _ and don’t get all in your goddamn head about it. _

He checked his watch, 0543 hours. He’d never taken it off since graduating OCS, as it was something of a comfort. There were few times in the middle of flying when he actually needed to check it, but when he’d needed it, it had always been there. 

He headed up to the bridge. It was early still, and the ship, having only a handful on board, was dead quiet. A smooth, disembodied voice greeted him as he entered the bridge, “Good morning, Lieutenant Commander.” The Greek warrior appeared on the holopad next to the Commander’s chair. 

“G’mornin’” he walked past the AI, or at least its avatar, to the pilot’s seat. He started up the display, and waited as the various sensors came online. He leaned back in the chair, watching the dials and displays light up one by one. There was nothing but pure blackness in the viewport, the kind that only occurred in the slipstream. Bugs found it unnerving.

“Estimated time for re-entry to normal space is in 6 hours,” The AI announced, sounding almost annoyed. “I can more than handle the slipspace navigation, Lieutenant Commander.”

“I’m sure ya can,” Bugs relaxed further in his seat. “I just like watching.”

“Missing your old assignment on Fly By Night?” The AI didn’t miss a beat. Bugs cocked an eyebrow. “I know everything about your record, Lieutenant Commander, most impressive.”

“If you did, you’d know to call me ‘Bugs’” he replied. 

“Ah yes, from the term ‘bug-out’ am I correct? Most apt for an exfiltration pilot.”

“Most,” Bugs agreed. He kept his eyes on the displays in front of him, noting relative speed and estimated distance from the origin of the Prowler’s jump. He didn’t care much for the AI, or any AI for that matter. He had never gotten used to their super quick processing speed, nor the fact that they knew everything about him, even the things that weren’t public, including being able to sense his breath and heart rate, Achilles would know if he were lying, just by virtue of being in the ship’s sensors and computer. Which is why he tried to keep their interactions to the bare minimum. 

“I see. And do you mind telling me why you’re using the computer’s processing to check things that I am already monitoring?” Bugs saw the AI cross his arms out of the corner of his eye. 

“It’s a good habit to get into, double-checking another’s work while in slipspace. I was trained to check these things.” It certainly wasn’t a lie, but he knew that the AI would take some offense if he told the whole truth, which was that it was simply not in his nature to trust these things to a computer. Pilots were a notoriously superstitious lot, and they never left anything to a computer, or AI, that they were able to check for themselves. “Any incoming transmissions?” he asked, already pulling up the communications screen.

“No, I have sent my report to the Admiral, everything is operating as normal, there is nothing to worry about,” there was palpable, and uncharacteristic hesitation, “Bugs.”

“Great,” Bugs continued to check the communications screen, he didn’t even know what he was looking for, but it was a part of his training in the so-called Prowler Corps: check all comm traffic immediately upon taking control of the bridge, or waking, or on the hour. It was just what he did. That and something else, the AI seemed to strongly dislike Bugs’ manual checking. He wanted to write it off as the AI disliking his use of the shipboard computer’s runtime and processing power, but there was something else, some sort of power play, at work here. It wouldn’t have been something he would pick up on, except for all his time as an officer, going all the way back to OCS. He knew when someone disliked his insistence in double-checking their work. The AI was prideful, he realized. It didn’t like him checking because he was a mere human, who couldn’t possibly catch a mistake made by humanity’s most advanced technology. Or, at least, that would have been the AI’s perspective. 

He almost slipped up and smiled at the thought. This habit was not for the AI’s benefit, but for his. Part of flying a ship, especially a Prowler, was being constantly aware of everything, both onboard the ship, and, now that slipspace communication was possible, outside the ship. Knowledge was power, and nowhere was that more true than the bridge of a Prowler. “You care too much, Achilles,” he let himself grin then. 


	5. Chapter 5

**1134 Hours, July 13, 2555 (Military Calendar)**

**UNSC PRO-651, Unknown Location, Slipspace**

The whole of Delta-Three was crammed into the bridge, the massive Spartans barely fit in their seats. Bugs, the pilot, sat in the navigator’s chair, and the crewman, Walker, was at the technician’s console, and two of the Spartans more than filled the tactical and surveillance stations. The third Spartan and the ODST stood guard by the bridge doors, strapped to the bulkhead, at attention. Captain Larsen was strapped into the Command chair, and she hoped her white-knuckle grip was unnoticeable to the rest of the crew. 

“Enable stealth protocols the moment we drop out of slipspace, Achilles.”

“Aye, Captain.” There was a pause. “Return to normal space in 30 seconds,” Achilles’ hologram hovered next to the Command console.

She counted down the seconds until the ship lurched as it re-entered normal space.

“Fire port thrusters, just a little.”

“Aye, Captain.” This time Bugs replied, it was his duty technically, as navigator, but typically a shipboard AI would be doing most of the work for him, Larsen made note of this discrepancy, and wondered if Bugs had an issue with sharing his duties with the AI. 

The ship lurched and moved off the projected course of their reentry. They drifted along, running dark. She had nearly let herself have a small sigh of relief when one of the Spartans spoke.

“Ma’am, we have contacts, looks to be,” he paused, “looks like Covenant, ma’am.” 

“Scan again,” Larsen commanded, straining slightly to keep her voice even.

“Aye-aye,” the ever-serious Garan replied. Then a few seconds later, “There’s no mistake, Captain, I’m picking up 3 frigates and a cruiser. They’re in a low orbit.”

“What the hell,” she muttered, barely audible, “are they doing here?”

“It would appear,” Achilles began. 

The Captain cut him off, “That was rhetorical.”

“Yes, of course, ma’am.”

“Keep us dark, Walker. Garan, keep an eye on those ships. Keating, one quarter full, move us in quiet.”

***

**1141 Hours, July 13, 2555 (Military Calendar)**

**UNSC PRO-651, New Berlin, Zeta Septimus System**

Walker sat at perfect attention in his seat. His eyes flew over the monitors in front of him, scanning for any sign that something had gone wrong. He felt like he was seconds away from pissing himself. He shifted and then had to adjust the seat of his working uniform. This was so far removed from what he had trained for, hell, what he had enlisted for. 

His eyes flicked over the monitors once more. Working for ONI was not something he had ever expected to be doing. He had graduated Basic with Honors, he knew he was good at what he did. And he’d always wanted to be on the bridge crew of a ship, well, or a pilot on a Longsword. But this was nothing 

like what he had expected to be doing with his rating. He was a Machinery Repairman for god’s sake, he wasn’t cut out to be an ONI operative. 

He scanned the monitors again, and sighed. Clearly someone thought he was, someone with a lot more influence than he had. He idly wondered if it had been the Captain or the Admiral that had picked him for the mission as he looked over his screens. He didn’t know which of them would have been looking through the records of one of the newest batch of enlisted recruits in the UNSC. He’d only been in 6 months, and was only a crewman, there was no way he was the best candidate for a position with ONI, and it was even less believable that they even knew he existed. 

His eyes flicked back to the screens, and he noticed something. “Captain,” he said hesitantly, “I think we have a problem.”

***

**1144 Hours, July 13, 2555 (Military Calendar)**

**UNSC PRO-651, New Berlin, Zeta Septimus System**

  
  


“20 seconds until we reach a high orbit, Captain” Bugs announced. 

“Come to course one five five by three three zero, one sixth full,” Larsen ordered.

“Aye, one five five by three three zero, answering one sixth full. Moving into high orbit”

“Go active camouflage,” She told Tal.

“Aye, active camouflage online,” she replied. 

“What’s the problem, Walker?” she finally had the chance to ask. She hadn’t been ignoring him, and she certainly didn’t want him to think she was, but she needed to move them into an orbit so they could shut down the engines. 

“Ma’am I think the hull sustained some damage during the slipspace transition.” he said.

“What do you mean? Why didn’t we know right away?”

“It’s fairly minor, there’s no decompression,” he replied, “but it needs to be repaired before we can enter the atmosphere, or the change in pressure will tear us apart. The sensors on that part of the hull were damaged, so we had no way of seeing the damage, the only reason I know about it is a small gap in the sensor data from the bulkhead on deck seven.” 

“Can it be repaired?” she asked. She was impressed by the crewman’s observational skills, it was part of the reason he’d been selected for this mission.

Walker glanced back at the monitor screen in front of him, “Yes, ma’am, but it will require going EVA.”

“We’re in orbit ma’am,” Bugs announced. 

“Cut the engines,” she ordered. She shifted her attention back to Walker. “You’ve been through the zero-g and vacuum training, correct?”

“Yes ma’am, vacuum training is required for all Naval-”

“Good,” she cut him off, not wanting to waste time, “you’ll be repairing the damage, along with Saxen.” She insisted upon calling the Spartans by their names, not their service numbers. She was well-aware of their more-than-human status, but that still made them human. 

“Aye,” Walker began to unbuckle himself from the technician’s seat.

“Carter,” She glanced back at the ODST, still at attention by the door, “take over for Walker.” 

“Yes, ma’am,” he also unstrapped himself, and went to the now-vacant technician’s console while Saxen and Walker made their way off the bridge.


	6. Chapter 6

**1206 Hours, July 13, 2555 (Military Calendar)  
** **UNSC PRO-651, New Berlin, Zeta Septimus System**

Saxen G056 was just finishing up preparing to go EVA. He had checked and re-checked his Mjolnir Mark VII. He checked the pressure seal in his HUD readout, and it was green. Then he manually checked the seal by pulling his helmet off and putting it back on and listened to the hiss as it resealed. His training required that he double and even triple check his equipment, just like Kurt had always said, machines could be fooled, they could break, don’t ever trust them outright. 

Walker gave him an ok-hand sign, indicating he was sealed into his non-combat EVA suit. Saxen nodded and returned the gesture, then said into his helmet mic “COM test.”

“Test,” replied Walker, giving him another ok sign. 

“Good,” Saxen said, “I’ll grab the welder?”

“That would be ideal,” Walker’s voice was shaking slightly. He was nervous, Saxen realized. 

“Have you ever done an EVA repair?”

“Not in the field, but I’ve been trained.”

Saxen nodded. He’d been through the same vacuum and micro-gravity training. But he’d done it many times over the years, whereas the crewman would have only been through it once. “You’ll be fine, especially if you’re as good as everyone seems to think you are”

This time Walker nodded, but said nothing. Saxen could hear his breath shaking slightly. 

Saxen picked up the welder, it was a small piece of equipment, designed to be attached to the hull of the ship. It wasn’t heavy, but would have been impossible for the smaller, un-augmented crewman to carry around. They made their way out of the airlock and into the vacuum of space.

***

Ben floated to the machine, and fiddled with the settings. He knew he had to crank up the amperage well past where he would usually have it, in order to even begin to melt the Titanium-A battle plate that made up the ship’s hull. The nice thing was that due to the vacuum he wouldn’t have to worry about oxidation, the only place porosity would be coming from was the zero-g.

Satisfied with his settings for the moment, he floated back to where Saxen was waiting by the scratch. It was a deep gouge in the ship’s hull, probably from a small asteroid as they exited slipspace. He frowned, either this was going to take forever or he’d have to risk some inclusions or porosity by using a larger weld puddle. 

Saxen noticed his expression and asked over the single-beam TEAMCOM, “Everything alright?”

“Yeah,” Ben replied “this is just going to take a while.”

“That’s fine, just do what you gotta do.”

Ben did, he used high wirefeed speed relative to his amperage and filled in the gouge as quickly as he could, paying careful attention to his heat as the lack of atmosphere meant the heat in the weld wasn’t dissipating as quickly as it would normally. He used a thumb control on his spool gun to control the amperage to keep the weld from overheating. 

He ran several passes, filling it in slowly from the bottom. By the time he put the cover passes on it, he was sweating from the stress, but his hands never shook. They packed up the equipment and returned to the airlock. 

***

Saxen was carrying the welder back to the hangar where it was kept. The crewman had done an exceptional job repairing the hull. His skill was remarkable especially at such a young age, though Saxen had to admit, he wasn’t any older, despite three full years of active duty. He sighed and made his way back to the bridge, ruminating on those three years. Reach, Earth, the Ark. He hadn’t been there personally for those engagements, save Earth. It had been his first time on humanity’s home planet, and he’d been fighting hard for their survival. Earth, despite many Spartans and members of the UNSC at large having never so much as set foot on the damn planet, was the last bastion of hope for them. And now things were weird, the Covies weren’t Covies anymore and some of them were even friendlies now, which was too much for him to wrap his head around. He had been trained in a time when the galaxy was a simpler place, where friends looked like him, and the enemy did not. Now here they were, fighting Insurrectionists like back before he’d been born. He shrugged to himself and kept walking.    
“Is there something on your mind, Petty Officer?” Achilles appeared a meter in front of him, startling him slightly, though he suppressed the urge to reach for his sidearm. “Apologies for the intrusion, your heart rate was simply higher than your resting rate.” He paused, but Saxen didn’t reply, “or was that welder heavier than it looked?”

“It wasn’t,” was all Saxen could think to say, he felt slightly trapped.    
“I know, it weighs approximately 135 kilograms. The polymerized lithium niobocene doubles the lifting capacity of the operator and with your augmentations, I would hazard to guess that is not the reason you’re consuming oxygen faster than the average rate of someone of your size.” The AI didn’t skip a beat and Saxen grew uncomfortable with how much he knew, especially classified information like the Mjolnir technology and his own weight and dimensions. It was impossible to forget what organization this mission was for.    
“Yeah well,” Saxen shifted his weight to his left foot, then to his right, “it’s none of your damn business” he centered himself and shoved past the hologram, half-expecting to meet some resistance, silly as he knew that was. 

“Permission to enter the bridge, ma’am”

“Permission granted”

He entered the bridge. Everyone, including Walker, was back at their stations. He made his way to the straps next to the door.    
“We’ll be on the far side relative to the ships in 45 seconds, ma’am,” Bugs announced as Saxen strapped himself in, retrieving his rifle to stand guard across from Twitch. 

“Good,” the Captain tapped her chin thoughtfully. Saxen knew the look of someone planning around a new threat, idle gestures as they considered the options in front of their distant gaze. After a few moments, she came out of it, evidently with a plan. “Keating, have Achilles take over navigation and prepare the Owl for a planetary insertion. Carter, you and I are going planetside.” 


End file.
